


Indulge Me

by thekumquat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra awfulness, I know I said it wasn't trash party earlier but I changed my mind because it kind of is?, M/M, Manipulation, kinda sorta it's complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/pseuds/thekumquat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obadiah Stane does the right things for the wrong reasons, the wrong things for the wrongest reasons, and the asset gets attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Explination of the dubious consent at the notes at the end of the chapter.

The Winter Soldier entered the house at 9:15 pm. His new commander would not be there until 10, but the asset knew the value of securing the location before a meeting, especially one as important as this.

He did a brief sweep of the house, feet padding silently over hardwood and marble. The security alarm had been deactivated in anticipation of his arrival, but he noticed several independent security systems hooked up to select pictures and doorways. This man was one who valued his privacy.

If the asset had needed to, he could have slipped past these defenses with ease.  But he did not need to, so he left them be.

By 9:45, he had finished his sweep of the house. He had found several bugs scattered around the house. He destroyed them all, and left the shattered plastic frames lined up in a neat row on the kitchen counter.

He did not like this house. It was too big, with too many windows and too many exits.

The asset chose a seat in the front sitting room, with a good view of the door, out of sight of most of the windows. He placed his gun on the coffee table with the handle facing away, and settled back to wait.

 

The commander’s car pulled up in the driveway at 10:05. The headlights flashed briefly over the asset’s face. He heard the crunch of feet on gravel – the commander was a tall, heavy-set man; with a long, confident stride.

With the clatter of keys in the lock, the door swung open, and the commander entered the house. He was whistling a cheerful song. The asset did not recognize it.

“Hm hm hmhmm _sing_ this song, _doo_ dah, _doo_ dah…hm hm hmhmm five miles long—aha!”

The commander stood in the doorway, an overcoat draped on his arm. A graying beard framed his wide smile. His bright blue eyes crinkled in mirth.

“You must be the asset,” the commander said, entering the room. His voice was jovial.  “Obadiah Stane.” He held his hand out. The asset did not move. The commander did not seem perturbed by this. “I don’t use this room for business,” he said, stooping to pick up the gun. There was no hint of rebuke in his voice. “C’mon, let’s go into the kitchen.”

This was not standard procedure. But the commander was waving him toward the doorway, so the asset stood and followed silently. Stane led him down the hallway towards the kitchen. When he stepped inside and flicked on the lights, the asset paused just outside the doorway, in the shadows.

 When Stane saw the bugs lined up on the counter, his eyes shone.

“You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?” He sounded pleased. “Excellent work.”

The asset blinked, once. He was used to reprimands and censure. Approval was rare. He either did the job he was expected to do, or he failed. The look on Stane’s face made something twitch inside.

The asset…did not mind the praise.

Stane swept the bugs into the garbage can and glanced over his shoulder.

“Well come on,” he said. His tone was fond exasperation, as if the asset was a shy but beloved child who needed coaxing. “Come on out, let’s take a look at you.”

The asset did not hesitate. He stepped out into the center of the kitchen, blinking as his vision adjusted. Stane circled him, examining.

“Boy, I can’t tell you how excited I was when they told me they were sending you in. I’ve been reading about your work for years.”

The asset said nothing. Stane finished his circle and came to stand in front of the asset.

“You are really somethin else,” he said, pleased. The asset felt that strange, buzzing feeling inside again. When the asset did not respond, Stane’s smile grew. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s alright; I do enough talking for two people.”

He laughed and clapped the asset on the arm. The asset twitched, fighting down the automatic response to attack – hurting commanders brought the worst kind of pain, even worse than hurting handlers. If Stane noticed the twitch, he said nothing. Instead, he turned towards the counter, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He placed a picture down and tapped it with two fingers, before moving on to dig through the cabinets.

“I’m afraid this assignment is going to be slightly complicated,” he said, almost apologetically, as the asset picked up the photo.

It showed a man and a woman standing by the railing of a boat. They were smiling, with their arms around each other. Behind them was what appeared to be a river; beyond that, the skyline of a city, picked out in lights.

When he looked at the skyline, his throat and stomach seized. He stopped breathing. There was a roaring in his ears, his vision tunneled until all he could see were the buildings, tall and black, shining lights from every window--

The sensation stopped, and the soldier returned his gaze to the man and the woman. Now he could see that their smiles were tight and did not reach their eyes. The woman’s hand did not rest on the man’s back, but instead was wrapped around the railing behind him.

“Howard and Maria Stark,” Stane said, returning to the counter. He held a box of chocolates loosely in one hand. “Howard’s your main target. Maria is acceptable collateral. This one,” he pulled out another picture, “is not.”

A young man stared up at the asset from the photo. He was covered in grease stains and was smirking, sitting on the hood of a very expensive-looking car.

Stane’s expression had grown serious.

“Tony Stark is off limits. I don’t want anything happening to him, not one thing. And he can _not_ be there when you complete your assignment. This needs to look like an accident. If Tony even _thinks_ there’s a chance that this is murder, he’ll never let it go, and he won’t stop till he gets proof. Understand?”

The asset nodded. Stane smiled, serious expression disappearing.

“Good! Here.” He held the box of chocolates out. The asset stared, confused. Obadiah shook the box enticingly. “Go on, have one.”

His brow furrowed. This was not right. He was never offered things. He was given orders. Was this an order? Was he being ordered to choose? Sometimes he chose the weapons he used, or was allowed to request special ordinance that would assist him on his mission. Was this similar? But chocolate was not going to help him on a mission. He did not yet require sustenance.

Obadiah laughed, jerking the asset out of his thoughts.

“Boy, I really wrinkled your brain there, didn’t I? Sorry.” He plucked one chocolate out of the nest of paper and held it out to the asset. “Here, eat this one. Go on. You earned it.”

The asset reached out, uncertainly, and took the offered treat. He stared at it. It was small and round and so dark brown it was almost black. A delicate little flower had been carved into the top of it.

“Eat the damn chocolate, soldier,” Obadiah ordered, voice kind. The asset placed the candy in his mouth and bit down.

Flavor exploded across his tongue. The chocolate was so bitter it was almost unpleasant; but it was only a hard shell that cracked under his teeth. Inside was a sweet cream, tasting so strongly of mint he could feel it pricking his lungs when he breathed in.  

It was overwhelming. When the asset did eat, it was to fuel his body for the next mission. His meals were structured to provide necessary nutrients and proteins. There was little taste or texture to his food. _This_ felt like being punched in the face. It was not a pleasant sensation.

He blinked rapidly, his face twisting in displeasure. His throat worked as he struggled not to spit the candy back out. He had been ordered to eat, and he would eat. His stomach churned, threatening to reject it the moment he swallowed.

Stane was laughing, a huge noise in the dark house, leaning against the counter to stay upright.

The asset forced himself to swallow and gagged as the candy slid down his throat in a lump. He kept swallowing, but the sticky, cloying sweetness stayed in his mouth.  

“You should see the look on your face! You do not like that at all, do you?”  Stane sounded gleeful. “I’m guessing you don’t want another one?”

The asset looked askance at the box of chocolates. He would eat them if he was ordered, though he had to fight back a wave of nausea at the thought. Stane chuckled at the expression.

“Alright, alright, you don’t like it, that’s fine. Come on, take a seat. Fun’s over, we’ve got work to do.”

The asset sank into a seat at the table, relieved the experiment was over.

Obadiah placed a glass of water in front of him.

“Drink up,” he said, with a wink. “You’ll feel better.”

The asset felt something that might have been gratitude.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I've actually finished the whole work so expect regular updates every weekend. :D

[Two Days Later]

The asset was waiting to give his mission report. He was unsure as to why it had taken this long for his commander to come for it. The handlers had said nothing about it. The asset was simply left to rest in a cell while he waited. Perhaps they had another assignment for him. This mission had gone well, though, there was no need for a follow up. He had been very careful.

Guards came to the room where he was resting. He stood and followed them out. It was time to give his report. Afterwards, he would be taken to the cryochamber. He didn’t like the cryochamber, but he liked waiting for it even less.

The asset took his position in the center of the room. The guards stood around the door, talking amongst themselves and occasionally glancing his way. He stood at rest, unmoving. He was used to being stared at.

The door burst open, making everyone jump.

“There he is!” Obadiah boomed. “The man of the hour!”

He was dressed in a sharp black suit, a long white scarf hanging around his neck.

“Sorry about the wait,” he said. “Had to sign a lot of papers, execute a will, attend a funeral…” He grinned at the asset. “You did a bang-up job, kiddo. No one suspected a thing.”

He grabbed the asset’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. Everyone in the room took a sharp step back, but the asset only stared.  

“You did good! You should be proud of yourself.”

The asset felt the corners of his mouth turn up, just a little.  Obadiah laughed and clapped his arm around his shoulders.

“Look at you, _smiling_. Hey, you don’t look so scary when you do that, you oughta be careful.” The words were a reprimand, but the tone was all easy friendliness. The asset hesitated, and allowed himself to smile wider. Obadiah was not upset by this. Something grew light in his chest.

“Uh, s-sir—“

“Hey, why don’t we get a couple beers down here and celebrate? I’ve been putting on my best sad face for two and a half days, and let me tell you, it’s starting to wear. Let’s do something fun! We can order some take out—do you like pizza?”

The asset remained silent, and one of the scientists cleared his throat.

“Sir, we need to put him in cryo? He needs to be wiped.”

The asset’s smile vanished.

“Aw, look at that, you upset him. C’mon, put it off for a few hours, the kid deserves a break.”

He was. He was arguing _against_ a wipe?

He was _protecting_ the asset.

That was

Nobody ever

He was

The asset felt his guts clench, the tightness winding all the way up to his throat as he listened to Obadiah argue with the scientist.  

He stood very still and breathed as quietly as possible, trying to make this make sense in his head. He failed. Nobody protected the asset. The asset did not need protecting. But Obadiah was trying to keep him from feeling pain.

“Look. He hasn’t seen anything that needs wiping. You know he forgets the details every time he goes under. Freeze him, but no wipe.”  

The asset’s heart was pounding in his chest. Obadiah was stopping them from causing him pain, even pain that was part of a regular procedure.

Obadiah sighed and put his hand on his shoulder again. The asset was already getting used to touches that didn’t mean hurt, to someone smiling at him just for being there.

“Sorry kiddo. Looks like they’re gonna insist. But hey—next time they pull you out of cryo, your first meal is pizza and a beer, on me. I guarantee it.”

The asset would see Obadiah again. It was a comforting thought. Even as he stepped into the cryo chamber, he felt light inside. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later...

The asset looked around in the dark house. He…remembered this place. It was not a familiar sensation. It was like seeing ghosts behind his eyes. His mind relayed a shadowy inner image of what he was seeing, but slightly different. The chair and couch were a different color. There was a new lamp in the corner.

He was in Obadiah Stane’s home again, but he was not here to receive a mission. He was acting on very unusual orders. Obadiah had told him that he had twelve hours to complete his mission in its entirety. But, the man had added in a low voice, eyes shining, if the asset managed to complete his mission in less than ten hours, he was to meet him at Obadiah’s home.

The asset had finished in eight.  

He felt strangely on edge. He was not anxious, but he felt twitchy. His nerves were buzzing like they sometimes did during a mission, when he had to be very careful and a lot of things were happening at once. But nothing was happening right now, and he had no reason to be so alert.

When he heard a car pull into the driveway, his heart leapt into his throat. A new wave of the anxiety-without-fear swamped him. He counted Obadiah’s footsteps, and sat a little straighter as the door swung open.

He had only a second to notice that Obadiah was holding six cans and a wide, flat cardboard box when the smell hit him. It was savory and warm and somehow familiar. It made his stomach ache. He had eaten before he went on the mission, and had been given a few protein bars to keep him stable on the ride back, but now he felt as though he had not eaten for days. Weeks, even.

The asset’s stomach growled.

“Pizza and a beer, just like I promised.” Obadiah hit a button, and the shades closed. The asset’s eyes were glued to the cardboard box, and when Obadiah set it on the table and opened it, he could barely restrain himself from leaning forward.

It did not disappoint. Inside the box was a flat circle of dough, covered in cheese and sauce. The tingle of _familiar_ slid through his brain, but he barely noticed. His mouth was watering. The smell had grown stronger, and the asset…the asset _wanted_.

He watched Obadiah’s hands closely as he separated one triangular slice from the pizza. With agonizing slowness, he placed the slice on a napkin and then finally handed it to the asset.

Who waited. He could not remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted to eat this right now, but that didn’t mean he could be incautious. The mind knew better than the body. So even though he ached with the desire to taste the food, he watched Obadiah. The man lifted the slice up and took a bite, small end first. The asset did the same.

His brain melted. This was better than the chocolate. This was better than anything. His eyes slid shut. It didn’t just taste good, it _felt_ good. When he swallowed, the warmth travelled down his throat and then spread all the way to his fingers and toes. He took another bite of pizza and another, trying to eat as much as he could before it was taken away. Even when his cheeks were bulging, he wanted _more_.  

“Hey, hey! Slow down there, sport!” Obadiah sounded pleased, and his eyes were shining. “Take your time, enjoy it! Don’t you want to make it last?”

The asset glanced from Obadiah to the slice in his hands to the rest of the pizza and back up again. Obadiah took another slice and nudged the box across the table.

“It’s all yours, as much as you like. Enjoy it! It’s a little treat, for doing such a good job.”

The asset ducked his head, overcome with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

“Oh! Almost forgot.” Obadiah detached a can from the pack and cracked it open. He passed it to the asset.

The asset sipped it, carefully. It was bitter and fizzy, but he liked it. Even though it was cold, it sent warmth sliding through his muscles and joints, making him feel loose and relaxed.

The asset was allowed to eat the entire pizza, and most of the beer. While he ate, Obadiah talked. Not about anything in particular, not about missions or tactics or skills the asset needed to learn. He told stories. Old missions Obadiah had been on, things he’d done in college, times he’d been successful in manipulating something called “board of directors”. The asset listened with rapt attention. The idea of eating for enjoyment and to talk without purpose was fascinating and wonderful.

Even when the food was gone, Obadiah continued to talk. The asset sipped the last beer as slowly as possible, trying to make it all last. He could not remember ever feeling so full and peaceful and warm.

But far too soon, the asset ran out of beer and Obadiah ran out of stories. The asset swallowed down his disappointment when Obadiah stood and stretched.

“Well, we should head back. They’ll be expecting you soon.”

The asset’s stomach churned. Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten so much. Sometimes he threw up after a wipe. The thought of vomiting everything back up so soon after he’d enjoyed it was incredibly unpleasant. He should have known he wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy it for this long.

He stood and wobbled as a wave of dizziness swamped him. That was strange. The room seemed to be moving, though he wasn’t sure how it could be, when Obadiah was standing so still.

“Don’t worry,” Obadiah said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No wipe for you tonight. You don’t need it.”

The asset felt gratitude and relief well up inside of him again. Obadiah was so kind to him. He did so much for the asset, when the asset had done nothing exemplary. He wished he could do something in return.

A thought, riding on the bubbles of the four cans of beer in the asset’s stomach, floated across his brain. There was something he had seen people do, sometimes. They tended to do it for people they cared about, or people who gave them things they wanted.

He took a step forward, right inside Obadiah’s space. The other man went still; his eyes cautious.

“What’cha doin there, sport?” he asked.

The asset dug through the dizzy mush of his brain. There were words for this, he knew there were. He’d heard people say them, but he never bothered to pay attention. They hadn’t seemed important.

“Wanted…to say thank you?” he tried, hesitantly. Obadiah’s eyebrows went up, but he did not turn away or rebuke the asset. He took this to mean he should continue.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Obadiah’s. It felt…warm. A little wet. He realized too late that his eyes should be closed. He thought maybe he should be doing more with his lips.

Obadiah laughed, rumbling against the asset’s mouth. Obadiah began to move, lips teasing against the asset’s until he figured out how to copy him. Obadiah’s tongue felt very hot and very wet, and it was strange to have something moving in the asset’s mouth like that.

But it was _nice._ It was more of the pleasant warmth and gentle touching he had come to expect from Obadiah. He moved a little closer, and Obadiah’s broad hands pressed against his back. They were pressed chest to chest, and although the asset was being held in place, he didn’t feel trapped or confined.

He felt… safe.

A sound slid from the asset’s throat and into his mouth. The asset hadn’t meant to make it, and wasn’t sure why he had.

Obadiah ended the kiss and pulled away, but not too far. He kept his hands on the asset’s arms. He was smiling a new kind of smile that made heat coil in the asset’s belly.

“You’re pretty good at that,” he said. The asset smiled. He smiled so much around Obadiah. The other man’s eyes flicked down and he laughed. The asset looked down too, and for the first time realized that his pants felt confining and uncomfortable. The fabric was tented where his penis was pressing against it.

Obadiah reached down, cupped his hand around the bulge, and squeezed. The warmth in the asset’s body turned to fire. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes rolled up of their own accord. He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself, but Obadiah’s hand began to move, grinding the heel of his hand against the asset’s hardness.

More sounds tried to escape the asset’s throat, but he bit down hard on his lower lip. He was not supposed to make more noise than he needed to. He was required to…to… something about…not attracting attention? Why was it so hard to _think_?

Obadiah’s thumb ran across his mouth, gently pulling the asset’s lower lip free.

“You make nice noises. I’d like to hear them.” Again he squeezed, and the asset whined, hips jerking forward.

Then Obadiah took his hand away and the asset let out a low groan of despair.

“Please” slipped out before he could stop it and he froze. He was not allowed to ask. He was not allowed to beg. But he wanted so badly to feel so good.

Instead of hitting him, Obadiah kissed him again. The asset leaned into it, eagerly, but somehow now the warmth of kissing seemed less enticing then the fire from a few seconds ago.

“I know you’re not allowed to ask for things, and I don’t want you thinking this applies to work stuff, but here and this… you can ask.” Obadiah’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone. “I want you to ask me.”

“Please,” the asset begged. “Please, please.”

“Please what?” Obadiah asked, teasingly. The asset stumbled, mentally. Please what? He didn’t know what. He’d never had anything to ask for. He’d never been _allowed_ to ask before.

“I don’t know,” he said. Obadiah laughed.

“How about, ‘please have sex with me’.”

“Please have sex with me,” the asset parroted. Yes, that was what this was. He’d seen people do it a few times, usually before he killed them. 

“Well since you asked so nicely,” Obadiah said. He placed his hand on the asset’s lower back and guided him towards the stairs. “Let’s take this up to the bedroom. I’m not really into the ‘fast and dirty on the couch’ thing. I’m a classy guy. Like to treat my partners nice. And you like it when I’m nice to you, don’t you?”

The asset smiled. “Yessir.”

Obadiah threw his arm around his shoulders.

“That’s my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god one day I will stick to my deadlines. Update next weekend on time I SWEAR.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously dub-con sex here. You have been warned.

Obadiah’s bedroom was simply decorated and done largely in shades of white. Most of it meant nothing to the asset, save for automatic notation of potential weapons or exit points. But Obadiah’s bed was a pure, plush expanse of white, like someone had tied down a cloud.

His attention was brought back to the matter at hand when Obadiah tugged playfully at a strap on his jacket.

“Take it off,” he said. “Let’s see what you have under the hood.”

The asset wasn’t wearing a hood, but he complied nonetheless. Obadiah took a step back and watched him as he stripped mechanically. When the asset was finished he stood still while Obadiah walked around him in a slow circle. His fingertips brushed the small of the asset’s back. The asset had to fight back a shiver at the fire that bloomed at the touch.

“You really are something else,” Obadiah murmured. The asset felt pleased that Obadiah was so impressed with him. When Obadiah began to kiss him again, the asset responded with fervor. He pressed himself close and let his hands rest on Obadiah’s upper arms. Kissing was easy, once he got the hang of it. It was very enjoyable.

“Alright,” Obadiah said, pulling away and grinning. “I’m sold. Get your ass on that bed.”

The asset complied. He tried to remember what sex looked like. He had killed a couple having sex once. He’d shot them both in the head. What had they looked like just before? The woman had been lying down with her legs up around the man’s waist. So the asset lay on his back and bent his legs at the knees, open wide to make room for Obadiah.

Who laughed, fondly, and placed his hands on the asset’s knees. With a gentle pressure he unfolded the asset’s legs so they were down flat on the bed.

“Slow down there, sport. There’s no rush. I prefer to take my time.”

He pulled his tie off from around his neck, eyeing the asset up and down. He slid out of his clothes and climbed carefully onto the bed.

Obadiah ran his palm up over the asset’s stomach and up his chest. The asset let himself shiver at the slow trail of heat against his skin.

“You are something else,” Obadiah said again. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the asset’s neck. Another noise rose in the asset’s throat, and he held it there for only a moment before letting it out, like Obadiah wanted.

For a long time, that was all they did. Obadiah kissed him and touched him and the asset touched back just a little. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing, so he did his best to imitate Obadiah, who guided him along when he needed it.

Then Obadiah leaned away and pulled something from a drawer.

“Now that we’ve got the ball rolling,” he said, grinning. He spread something from a small tube onto his hand and coated his fingers. He reached down and pressed one finger against the asset’s hole. The asset squirmed. That felt…strange. It wasn’t as good at the kissing.

The pressure increased.

“Hold still,” Obadiah said as the asset squirmed more. It felt so strange and unpleasant, it wasn’t like the other things at all. The heat was fading from the asset’s skin.

“If you don’t relax, I’m going to hurt you,” Obadiah said, firmly. The asset instantly went limp.

He’d ruined it. It had been going so well and it had been so nice and he’d ruined it because he couldn’t do as he was told. Obadiah had treated him so nicely and now the asset was in trouble and the nice things would go away again and—

“Aw, kid, don’t look at me like that,” Obadiah said, tutting. With his free hand he brushed hair out of the asset’s face and stroked his cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you have to relax to make this feel good.”

The asset wasn’t sure he believed that.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Obadiah leaned down and kissed him softly. “I’d never hurt you like that, not here. Hurt’s just to teach you when you make a mistake at work. You know that, right?”

The asset relaxed for real this time and smiled tentatively.

“There’s that smile! Now, take a deep breath and relax. It’ll feel good in a minute, I promise.”

This time, Obadiah kissed the asset’s neck and shoulder as he pressed his finger inside of him. It still felt strange and vaguely unpleasant, but the kissing was nice. He focused on that, and let the warmth grow until the fire was back, rolling his body against Obadiah’s. Occasionally Obadiah’s hand would drift down to stroke him and the asset would shake and groan and roll his eyes back.

But always the hand would retreat, leaving him desperately wanting more.

Obadiah finally removed his fingers, to the asset’s relief.  He’d like to go back to just kissing and touching.

“Okay,” Obadiah said. “I think you’re ready.” Again he reached for the drawer, and this time he pulled out a foil square.

 _A condom_ , the asset’s brain provided, though he couldn’t imagine why such knowledge had been implanted. The mission where he’d killed the couple having sex hadn’t required him to _join in_. He watched curiously as Obadiah slid it over his length.

Then Obadiah arranged himself over the asset, and the asset realized what was happening. That was why he’d put his fingers there. To make room for…that. His heart sank slightly. He’d hoped they wouldn’t do any more of that.  If this was what Obadiah wanted, however, this was what the asset would give him. Obadiah should have everything the asset could give.

Obadiah’s dick was much larger than his fingers, and the asset struggled not to tense up.

“You’re doing good,” Obadiah murmured. “You’re doing so good. Look at you. Best asset a guy could ask for.”

The asset smiled. Obadiah was good to him. It made him feel better than anything. Obadiah moved so he was on his knees, his hands free to grip the asset’s thighs. This new position was slightly less comfortable than the previous position, but the asset didn’t let that show. Obadiah needed him to be happy.

He soon realized that this position had the added benefit of freeing Obadiah’s hands to dance over the asset’s skin. His touch was firm and gentle and let the asset on fire. He gripped the asset’s length in hand and began to stroke rhythmically, finally, _finally_ giving the asset what he had been craving since the first touches in the living room.

The asset found that if he focused on that, rather than the intrusion, the unpleasantness faded almost completely.  He sank into the pleasure, writhing on the mattress, letting himself make the noises Obadiah wanted. The asset panted and gasped and whined and pleaded and begged.

His breathing and heart rate began to increase at a significant rate. He choked and arched his hips. Obadiah took that as invitation to speed the thrusting of his hips, but the asset was drowning in the good feelings and didn’t notice. He would let Obadiah do anything to him if it meant he could feel like this again.

The asset’s body began to shake, trembling with the overwhelming force of it. Suddenly he hit something, some point where his mind exploded into lights and silence. The world around him stopped for a few brief seconds. The asset forgot to breathe.

He was dimly aware of Obadiah still moving above and inside of him, but it was fading. The whole world was fading, like losing consciousness but in a warm, soft way.

 

He blinked. Obadiah was gone, and the asset was lying alone on the bed. He shifted and winced. He felt sore in a way he’d never experienced before. He was grateful he healed quickly.

“Well hello sleeping beauty!”

The asset looked up and smiled at Obadiah. The man was slightly damp from a shower and wrapped in a green silk robe. He sat down on the bed beside the asset and patted the asset’s thigh.

“I was a little worried for a minute there,” he said. “but you took it like a champ. Good job, kiddo.”

The asset smiled again. His limbs felt heavy and his mind dreamy.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Obadiah ran his fingers through the asset’s hair. The asset sighed happily and nodded. Obadiah chuckled. “Well I’m glad. You rest up for a bit, then we’ve got to head back. And don’t worry,” he said, before the asset could even think it. “definitely no wipe for you this time.”

The asset _beamed_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter, I apologize.

**17 Years Later**

The asset woke to the rumble of Obadiah’s voice.

“Tony!”

There was a distant voice coming through a phone line.

“Obi, what are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep till I found out how it went. How’d it go?”

The asset lay very very still. He didn’t know who the person on the phone was, but it was clear he was not to know the asset was there.

“Looks like it’s going to be an early Christmas.”

“Hey! Way to go, m’boy. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Something sick and hot boiled in the asset’s gut. That was the voice Obadiah used when he talked to _him_ when he did well, and now he was using it for someone else.  Was there another asset? Someone Obadiah liked better? Someone else who was allowed into his bed? Who was allowed to feel good?

“Why aren’t you wearing the pajamas I got you?”

“Goodnight, Tony,” Obadiah said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. The sheets rustled around them as Obadiah rolled over. The asset felt the brush of bristly whiskers on his shoulder as Obadiah pressed his mouth there. The asset tensed, shoulders coming up high.

“Well what’s gotten into you?” Obadiah sounded hurt and that made the asset feel even sicker. He was upsetting Obadiah, and that was wrong, but the asset felt…betrayed. He curled up even tighter.

“Hey, come on now, don’t be like that.” Obadiah’s tone was still concerned, but there was a sharp edge to it that meant the asset was treading on dangerous ground.  As good as Obadiah was, he was still a commander, and it was his job to keep the asset in line.

 “You were speaking to another asset?” he tried not to make it a question, but it came out as one. Obadiah was silent for a moment, and then he began to laugh.

“Are you _jealous_?  You are! What, of Tony?” His tone was mocking.  Hot shame welled up in the asset’s stomach. He was an idiot. He curled up even tighter. He didn’t deserve the kindness Obadiah showed him, not when he was so ungrateful.

“Ahh, c’mere.” Obadiah’s turned him onto his back. The asset kept his eyes averted. “You worried there’s another asset I like more than you? Is that it?”

The asset nodded and Obadiah laughed again. The asset felt a hand on his head and flinched. But it just stroked over his hair, gently.  

“Aw, kiddo, don’t worry. That wasn’t an asset; that was a person. One of our engineers got a little too big for his britches, and I had to take care of it.” He put his hand under the asset’s chin and tilted up. His eyes were crinkled at the corner and endlessly fond. “You’re still my favorite. Don’t you worry about that, okay?”

The asset relaxed, and gave Obadiah the smile he liked. Obadiah ruffled his hair

“There we go! See, this is why I’m in charge. Somebody’s gotta keep you in line, you little nut.”

The asset’s smile grew into a rare grin, the kind he only got around Obadiah. Nobody but Obadiah ever bothered to tell the asset what was going on. Nobody else felt that the asset needed to know. Obadiah told him things. Obadiah let him feel good.

He reached up and wrapped his arms around Obadiah’s neck, pulling him down.

“And what’s this?” Obadiah asked, grinning.

“Making it up to you,” the asset said. Obadiah’s laugh rumbled in his chest. His hand gripped the asset’s thigh and he moved his mouth to the asset’s neck. The asset tilted his head to facilitate access, and rolled his hips forward. Obadiah glanced at the clock.

“Ah, what the heck. We’ve got a few hours till you’re due back.”

The asset felt a wave of relief, and smiled again.

“See, you’re so well behaved. Why can’t they all be like you?” He nudged the asset’s legs up over his hips. “Let’s see if we can’t make the most of our time, huh?”


	6. Chapter 6

The asset complied with the usual post-cryo procedures. Post-cryo left him numb inside and out, but he could not help but look forward to getting his assignment. He would get to see Obadiah again. If he did his mission quickly and efficiently, he might even be allowed to go back to his house. The asset would like that.

The handlers dressed him and brought him into the main room to be presented. He forced himself to stay still. Obadiah had told him he had to be professional around the others.

The door opened, and the asset’s heart leapt.

But it wasn’t Obadiah. It was a new man he’d never seen before, with dark hair. He was accompanied by Pierce. (The asset did not usually know the names of handlers and commanders, but he knew Pierce, as he had known Zola.)

“How is he?” the dark haired man asked. There was no joviality in his tone. It was flat, like he was reciting something from memory.

“All systems functioning as normal.”

The asset’s brow furrowed. That was the kind of thing commanders asked.

“One target,” the dark-haired man said to the asset. “Civilian, non-combatant.”

The asset frowned in confusion. He looked around. Obadiah was not here. Where was he? Would he be coming later?

“He will be transported out of Odessa by—“

“Asset,” Pierce said. The asset snapped hurriedly to attention. “You seem distracted today.”

“Where is Obadiah?” the asset asked. Pierce’s face went blank.

“He is no longer your commander.”

“Why not? Where is he?”

Murmurs began to spring up behind him. The asset didn’t care.

“I don’t think you need that information, soldier,” said the dark-haired man.

Obadiah would have told him. Obadiah told him _everything_. His fists clenched and unclenched. He glared at the new man and _hated_ him, this pathetic imposter.

“This is your commander now,” Pierce said.

“No! I don’t _want_ him, I want Obadiah!” he shouted. Everyone took a startled step back and looked uncertainly at one another. Pierce narrowed his eyes.

“Stane has left us.”

“Make him come back!”

“Stop this, right now. You have to work to do. Do not make me tell you again.”

There were so many warning signs. The asset had broken so many rules. Pierce was angry, and that always led to pain. The guards had their hands on their weapons. But he didn’t care. He was choking on fear and desperation.

“No! I won’t! Tell me where he is! Make him come back!”  

“Obadiah Stane is _dead_ ,” the dark-haired man snapped. Pierce shut his eyes. “And he’s not coming back, so get yourself under control.”

Dead. Not coming back. No more good things. No more touching. No more food that tasted good. No more laughing, crinkling eyes. No more praise. No more _love_.

The dark-haired man’s head bounced off the concrete wall. The metal hand around his neck was enough to kill him, but the asset kept hitting him anyway. He wanted him to break and bleed. There was shouting all around him and one long, endless scream of rage and sorrow.

It took four guards to pry him off of the dark haired man, but by then he was nothing but meat. The asset fought and kicked, but every time he sent a guard flying another one took his place. He didn’t even know if he wanted to get free. He felt like he was drowning.

He did not think he had ever fought the chair before, but he fought it now. They had to hold his arms against the cuffs and pry his jaw open to get the bite guard in. It occurred to him that after this wipe, he would not remember Obadiah. Tears began to streak down his face. The rubber in his mouth muffled the sound as he screamed and screamed.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to go back to this. He wanted things back the way they were. He wanted Obadiah to clap him on the shoulder and call him ‘kid’. He wanted to be allowed to feel. He wanted…he wanted…

 

 

The asset came back to consciousness slowly. When he opened his eyes, the world was fuzzy, so he shut them again. His fingers were numb, but he could sense the chair beneath him. He was allowed to rest after a wipe. He knew that.

“…the hell you didn’t report this to me,” the asset heard.

“It didn’t seem to be doing any harm; the asset was functioning more efficiently than ever.”

“And he hasn’t been wiped since the Stark case? God, that was nearly twenty years ago. He's been on dozens of missions since then.”

“Stane said it didn’t matter, since all the missions went well and he forgot stuff going into cryo anyway.” The handler sounded tremulous, terrified.

Stane. The name made some distant part of his mind flicker, but then it was gone.

“Of course he did, the man had an ego bigger than the Grand Canyon. You said he was taking him back to his house? God only knows what he was getting up to.” A hand tapped the side of the asset’s knee. “Up.”

The asset sat up obediently. A hand pulled the bite guard from his mouth and pressed a water bottle in its place. He drank slowly.  When he opened his eyes, the world was less blurry. Pierce stood in front of him, hands on his hips. He looked displeased.

“Status report.”

The asset considered.

“Disoriented,” he said. His voice sounded rough. It usually did – the screaming hurt. “Slightly dehydrated. Injured hand. Functional.” Someone handed him the water bottle. Pierce leaned in slightly.

“Do you know who Obadiah Stane is?”

Again that neuron rolling over in his memory, a distant feeling that the name may have been important.

“No,” he said. “Do I need to?”

“No,” said Pierce, sounding pleased. “You don’t.”

He turned to the man beside him. “Have them take Johnson’s body somewhere. Make it look like an accident. And no more new commanders. We can’t afford slip ups like this. I’ll handle things from now on.”

Pierce handed him a file. The asset flipped it open and rested it on his knees as he sipped his water.

“You have one target. Non-combatant, civilian. He’s being transferred out of Odessa by an agent. The agent is a level six. Highly dangerous. I want you to avoid killing her unless absolutely necessary.”

The asset reached up to scratch his face, and it came away wet. When had that happened, he wondered? But Pierce was talking, and he did not think of it again.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be sex between Stane and Bucky. It's Bucky's idea, and he initiates it. Obadiah goes along with it. Bucky probably wouldn't be allowed to change his mind once they got started, but he never wants to, so it doesn't come up. There's also the massive power imbalance and the fact that Bucky's not in his right mind. 
> 
> So, dubcon kinda sorta not really.


End file.
